


Look Here

by saraid



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3920578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraid/pseuds/saraid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair's life is moving pretty smoothly and he doesn't understand why he's unhappy with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Here

Wednesday night, 6 p.m.

"Hey, Chief. Simon loaned me out to Vice tonight for a stakeout. The cable guy is supposed to show up around 7 to reprogram that box."

Staring at the stack of mail on the table, bills to be paid, letters to answer, Blair rubbed his free hand over his face and sighed, letting the answering machine click off. He'd been expecting Jim to be home tonight. Jim was supposed to catch up on the correspondence and the laundry while Blair worked on the exams and papers written by his prison classes. And he still had to work on the lesson plans for next semester at Zundy Jr. High, his real job.

Instead of getting to work, he dropped his pack and briefcase on the table beside the pile of bills, sat on the sofa, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.

This was Jim's second stakeout this week. Blair knew the Cascade PD was shorthanded, but Jim always seemed to be the guy working overtime. Sure, he was the Sentinel and supposed to protect the city, but he needed to take care of the mundane parts of life, too. Lately, it seemed like all Jim did was work and leave Blair to pick up the slack.

With a second, heavier sigh, Blair heaved himself off the sofa. This wasn't going to get him anywhere. He gave himself a shake and began moving around the room, tidying up. It wasn't dirty, exactly, but there were a bunch of things out of place. Magazines and journals needed to be sorted; he stacked them to go through later. Books and CDs and videos needed to be re-shelved, a couple set aside to return to the Blockbuster; late, like always. There were coffee cups and cereal bowls that needed to get to the kitchen, and in the kitchen, breakfast dishes that needed to be washed and counters that were getting sticky... Blair let himself get caught up in the flow of normalcy, refusing to admit how much Jim's most recent defection bothered him.

If he didn't know better, he would think Jim was avoiding him.

 

* * *

 

Wednesday night, 10 p.m.

He was avoiding Blair.

He knew it, and he was pretty sure Simon knew it. When the captain had called him in and asked if he could cover a shift on the stakeout, Banks had made it very casual, as if he assumed Jim would say yes and the asking was only a polite formality.

The only question here was whether or not Blair had figured it out.

His radio crackled softly, the volume turned down too low for a normal person to hear it. 

"We're going 10-7 for coffee, Zebra-3."

"Ten-four," Jim lifted the mouthpiece and answered.

It was Wednesday night. He would sleep late tomorrow after spending the night here, then Blair had the prison class on Thursday nights, it usually ran late. His chess team had a tournament all day Saturday, so he would stay late at school Friday getting them ready for it. With any luck, there would be a couple of games on Sunday and Jim could use them as an excuse, which would kick them back into regular schedule on Monday. School for Blair all day, prison classes Tuesday and Thursday, and why the heck Jim felt this way he didn't know.

But lately, being around Blair made him more sad than anything else. Sad and guilty and he hated the way that felt. Hated it, that feeling, so he avoided it, and wound up avoiding Blair.

His best friend deserved better than that. After everything that had happened, after everything Blair had given up. 

 

* * *

 

Wednesday night, 11 p.m.

I deserve better than this, Blair thought with a mental grumble, bending to retrieve warm, fresh laundry from the dryer, refilling the machine with the wet load of bleachy-smelling whites; socks, underwear, tee shirts, most of them Jim's.

There was still a load of jeans and a load of darks, mostly his stuff, boxers, socks and tees, to be done, besides the load of colors upstairs waiting to be folded.

The cable guy hadn't come and the box was still on the fritz, which meant he wouldn't be able to tape the National Geographic special he'd wanted to show his class tomorrow. That meant he would have to come up with something else or re-arrange the whole month's schedule in social studies.

Zundy was a junior high school in the poorest section of town. This was Blair's second year there. The first had been a nightmare as he tried to adapt to lower-level education while cramming in the night classes he'd needed to get his teaching certificate. Like many school systems, Cascade Independent was suffering from a critical shortage of teachers. Blair didn't kid himself, that was the only reason he'd been accepted into the emergency certification program. The public spectacle of his doctorate fiasco had guaranteed he would never again teach at the university level, even at a junior college in Bumfuck, Arkansas. He knew, he'd applied there. His lack of appropriate specialization—meaning math or science or English—meant he couldn't teach high school. After he had politely but firmly turned down the badge the PD offered, there hadn't been a lot of other choices.

Jim had been supportive. Insisted that Blair stay with him until he was on his feet. There had been student loans to pay, due immediately, and Rainier breathing down his neck, threatening lawsuits for damage done to their image. He'd managed to pacify them, but the lawyer had been expensive.

His life was not what he had dreamed it would be, almost ten years ago when he set out on this path. But it wasn't a bad life and he found things in it to be proud of. Now, finally, two years later, it was starting to make sense again. He had a decent car, a credit card and some money in the bank. He'd taken on some challenges at the school; starting a chess club where they'd never had one, sponsoring a Torch group through the local Boys & Girls' Club to get kids involved in community service.

So what was he still doing here?

Blair clumped up the stairs and put Jim's stack of folded laundry on the bed. He looked around for a moment.

Some things never seemed the change.

Jim's bedroom looked almost exactly the same as it had the day Blair moved in. He'd gotten the five-cent tour. The blue comforter, which he now knew Carolyn had bought, was looking a little faded. The bright yellow sheets were pale. A little worn. Tattered at the edges.

Maybe it was time to make a fresh start. Get out from under Jim's feet and stand on his own two for a change.

Maybe.

The silence was less friendly than Blair usually found it, but he didn't put on any music. He made some sandwiches in the now-spotless kitchen, and sat down to read the papers written by the inmates at the minimum-security facility outside Cascade. Most of them were guilty of being poor more than being bad people. He hoped that if he could teach them enough to go back into the world and fill out a job application, run a cash register, pay their bills, they would be able to hold jobs, and stay out of further trouble. He really didn't need the money anymore, but he wanted to keep the job because it made him feel like he was making a difference. Contributing to society. Even if he wasn't a professor, or a cop.

It was almost 2 a.m. before he gave up and went into his little room, the lights off. He took off his shoes and stretched out on top of the bed without getting undressed.

He fell asleep feeling, as he had for more months than he remembered, like something important was missing from his life.

 

* * *

 

Thursday, 2 p.m.

"I said no talking." Trying not to snap, but keeping his voice low so it would carry and, hopefully, make an impression, Blair warned the girls at Table 3 for the second time. He needed to separate them, but knew how disappointed they would be. There seemed to be more gossiping than work getting done, though.

"Yes, Mr. Sandburg," several light voices murmured. He gave them a glare and a frown, though he disliked being harsh.

This was a different world from college, where students were there because they wanted to be, at least theoretically.

The classroom door opened. Blair looked up from his lesson book, mildly surprised to see the office secretary, Mrs. Augustus.

"Mr. Sandburg." She smiled, but she was always friendly. "Mr. Dillard would like to see you in his office for a moment. I'll watch your class."

"Uh, oh, yeah. Okay." Blair hastily tucked away the schedule he was working on and stacked the lesson plan and textbooks on a corner of his desk. "They're completing a study sheet, then they need to read chapter twenty-seven."

He walked quickly down the hall, half-laughing at his nervousness. Sent to the principal's office, at his age! He hoped everything was okay; that his mom was well and Jim was safe. Most likely Dillard wanted to discuss Saturday's chess tournament. The team had made a good showing at the last one, but the captain, a hot-headed kid named deShaun—he reminded Blair of Daryl Banks—had lost his temper and become verbally abusive toward his opponent. Blair had already banned deShaun from this next tournament and he hoped that was enough to satisfy the principal. DeShaun had talent and Blair didn't want to kick him off the team.

The principal was on the phone. His office was filled with a growing collection of eagles, the school mascot. Stuffed ones, ceramic ones, pictures of eagles and postcards. He displayed it all proudly in an overflowing bookcase. Blair thought it was nice, that he made it a point to show them all off, even some student-made sculptures that weren't all recognizable. As eagles or anything else.

Dillard was a good man, steady and fair, and that made it just that much harder for Blair to understand why the man didn't like him.

He wasn't imagining it. Even Jim had said so after last year's staff Christmas party—Jim was off that night and Blair had bullied him into coming. That night Dillard had been even shorter and colder toward Blair than usual.

After a year and a half here, Blair had decided that the problem had to be race. He wasn't the only white teacher in the school, but he was the only white male, and Jewish to boot. It bugged him, but he wasn't about to let the man's prejudice drive him off. He'd been hired by the District Superintendent, not Frank Dillard.

"Sandburg." Dillard gestured at him when he stuck his head into the office again. "Come in and shut the door."

There was no one in the outer office, so that sounded ominous to Blair, but he did as he was told, taking a seat on the small sofa by the wall.

"Is something wrong?" Blair asked. Dillard was just standing behind his own desk chair, hands on the back of it, frowning.

"Firstly, I want to make it very clear that I know you try to leave your personal life at home, and I appreciate that," he said after a few minutes.

Blair tipped his head to one side, confused. "Excuse me?"

"You know how important continuity is to these kids, right?" Dillard gestured expansively.

"Of course." The lives of kids at this socio-economic level were often marked by daily emergencies and rapid fundamental changes; moving, parents changing jobs or partners, family and strangers in and out of the households. For them to succeed, they needed school to be the one place they could count on to stay the same.

"And you know how I feel about my teachers taking 'mental health' days or bogus sick days."

"Yes..." Blair had no idea where this conversation was going. He'd only missed one day this year, and that had been for a long-awaited, much needed root canal.

"I received a call from the cascade Police Department a while ago. They said they needed you at a crime scene." Dillard looked like he'd tasted something nasty. Blair stiffened.

"Jim?" he asked, hands clenched on his knees. Dillard ignored him and continued.

"I told them we didn't have anyone available to cover your classes." Dillard leaned forward and the chair creaked. "Then Captain Banks called. He said it was imperative that you come to the scene. I would have argued, but he threatened to go over my head."

"What's happened to Jim?" Blair was surprised that he sounded so calm. Amazed, even.

"No one said anything about your 'roommate' being injured or in danger," Dillard said the word as if it tasted bad. "I'm letting you go, but I want you to know this will not happen again. I don't like being threatened." The man was clearly angry, but all Blair had really heard was the word 'go'. He was on his feet and halfway to the door before he realized he didn't have an address.

No problem. He would call Simon. He barely managed to walk out of the building to his car, a dark blue new-model Volkswagen Beetle. The need to run literally made his feet itch. He wasn't even out of the parking lot before he was on the cellphone, steering with one hand and shifting with the other. 

He called Jim's cell first, and was relieved when it was answered on the second ring. That relief turned to worry when he heard Simon's deep voice on the line.

"Banks. Sandburg, that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. Tell me what's going on, man—is Jim okay?"

"Hang on a minute." Blair heard muffled voices, then movement, then Simon was back, speaking quietly. As if he didn't want to be overheard. "Sandburg, Ellison is zoned. He was in on the bust around lunchtime. There was a gunfight, some bags of coke got hit and that shit went everywhere. Jim was right in the middle of it. First they thought he'd been hit and they called me, but there's not a mark on him."

"You tried the usual stuff?" Jim zoned so seldom these days that it was safe for him to work alone, and on those rare occasions, he usually snapped right out of it when someone close to him spoke his name or shook him. Very shallow, easily-controlled zones. Since Blair had left the PD, Jim had gone back to working alone, despite Simon's misgivings, and it had been okay. "Nothing worked?" 

It had been working for nearly two years. Simon carried a last-resort kit; a scrap of an old tee of Blair's, wrapped around a hank of his hair. Blair had run some tests and found that his scents were almost always enough to bring Jim out of any zone.

"Nothing, Sandburg. Zip, nada." Simon was being short, not amusing.

"Where is he?" Blair was on the highway now, headed back toward town from the mostly-black suburb where the school was located.

"On the way to Mercy General. I couldn't manufacture any more excuses to slow the EMTs down, and I have to stay on the scene until it's secured. Could be a while."

"You made sure they saw the Power of Attorney?" Blair had the right to make medical decisions for Jim. The right and the responsibility. "And the allergy list?"

"I gave them to the EMTs, but they weren't taking it seriously." Simon sounded depressed and Blair wondered how hard a time he'd had.

"I'll be at the hospital in thirty minutes," he promised the captain. "They'll take me seriously. I'll get him back, Simon."

"I know you will," he sounded relieved now. "Jim knows he can count on you."  
"See you at the hospital later." Blair hung up and pressed the gas pedal. He might want to get Jim out of there as fast as he could, but he could always call Simon back if that was the case.

A deep zone. It had been years. The drugs, the gunshots, it could have been something else entirely. He had to get there and figure out what.

 

* * *

 

"Mr. Sandburg. We've been expecting you." Dr. Petty met Blair at the nurses station on the medical isolation ward.

"Doctor." Blair shook his hand and fell into step beside the taller man as they walked down the hall. There was an unpleasant sense of dèjá vu for Blair. This was where Jim had been last year about now, when he'd succumbed to a virulent viral infection. Blair and Petty had squared off over treatment and Blair had won—and saved Jim.

"How is he?" He wanted to run to Jim's side, but also, oddly enough, he wanted to stand right here, in the clean white hallway, and reduce everything to words. Safe, tidy, manageable words.

Maybe he was getting tired. He was getting older. It could happen.

"We followed your protocols." Petty shrugged. "I've got him on a simple saline drip and he was bathed with Ivory soap and distilled water. He isn't in a coma, but he hasn't woken up. He's breathing well. There's no sign of trauma—"

"So, this is probably an allergic reaction," Blair nodded. "Just leave me alone with him."

"Oookay." Dr. Petty opened the door of the private room. "If you need anything, just buzz."

"Captain Banks will be here soon," Blair told him. He was acutely aware of the doctor's opinion of him; that Blair was a pseudo-scientist and a troublemaker. But as long as he didn't interfere with Blair's care of Jim, Blair didn't care. It seemed that perhaps the doctor had even developed a grudging respect for Blair's dedication to his one patient. It was getting harder to feel dedicated, Blair thought. He went into the room and sat in the chair beside the bed. 

More and more lately, he wasn't feeling like he was around Jim because he wanted to be; he was here because he was afraid to leave. Afraid of something like this. Afraid Jim would need him and he wouldn't be there.

Blair used both hands to pull his hair back from his face. It was shorter now, about even with his chin, the curls making it thick. He bound it back quickly and then stood and leaned over Jim, rubbing the pale cheeks with both hands, transferring the scent to him.

Jim stirred, but didn't wake. Confident that he was no longer zoned, just resting, Blair leaned closer and spoke to him in the low, calm voice he'd only found when he met this man. The voice that focused Jim best. The Guiding voice.

"Jim, it's me. I'm here. I know you're probably not ready to wake up yet, but I'll be here when you are. I'm going to be right here beside you. So as soon as you're ready, just open your eyes and we can get out of here. I'll take you home and take care of you. We'll spend some time together..."

He sat on the edge of the bed and added tactile stimulation to the words, using his hands to stroke Jim's face, shoulders, chest and arms.

He would try this for an hour or so and then, if Jim was still asleep, quit and try again later. It was nice to feel so confident; Blair no longer doubted his ability to free Jim from a zone. It just took time. Not something they had a lot of at the moment, but what time he did have was Jim's.

"We haven't spent much time together lately. I hope that didn't contribute to this zone. There are some things we need to talk about, y'know. Not your favorite thing. But we always work things out. It'll be okay...." Blair talked and petted, willing to wait until Jim was ready to come back.

 

* * *

 

"Sandburg?" 

Simon entered the hospital room. Blair looked up from the clipboard he'd 'borrowed' from the nurses' station and smiled.

"Simon." They didn't see much of each other anymore. Daryl had gone on to college and Blair had turned down the badge. Even knowing how many strings Simon had pulled to get it for him hadn't been enough to make him go through with it.

He felt that still stood between them.

"Brought you some tea." The large man handed over a steaming Styrofoam cup that was a match for the one he kept. "Earl Grey."

They sipped, the silence not tense, but felt.

"How's he doing?" Simon asked at last.

"Still out. But he'll come out of it soon. I'm not too worried."  
"That's weird, to hear you say that." Simon sat in the second chair, by the wall and the window. The blinds were closed. Without his watch, Blair wouldn't have known what time it was. "Used to be every Sentinel thing was a crisis."

"Now I know what I'm doing." Blair shrugged. "He's breathing well, responsive, no fever, no rash. He'll come out of it when he's ready." 

"How long could that take?" Simon drank his coffee and grimaced. Blair could imagine how bad it was.

"If he's not awake by morning, I'll start to worry," he promised with a grin.

Simon nodded, and drank more coffee. They sat in silence for another while. The atmosphere became tense, filled with things left unfinished.

"I haven't had a chance to tell you, " Simon said when it seemed someone had to speak or leave. He was looking at Jim and not Blair. "You did an amazingly brave thing, giving up your dream for him."

"It was the only livable choice." Blair stared into the depths of his cooled tea. "Jim was the dream. I couldn't sacrifice him."

"Why not?" Simon's eyes were dark and questioning when Blair met them. "You worked your whole life for that degree. Why couldn't you throw him to the wolves to keep it?"

"Because." Blair couldn't meet those eyes anymore. He clearly remembered the expression of hurt disappointment on the captain's face when he'd handed back the shiny shield. "Because he's special. Not everyone gets a chance to save something special."

"You were special, too."

Blair kept his eyes on his cup. The brown liquid seemed to promise solace.

"No. I was just the one that found him."

"You saved him. Many times over. In the end, you sacrificed your life for his." Simon was insistent. "I'm not mad at you, Blair. I never was. I understood why you can't be a cop. What I don't understand is why you're letting him slip away from you."

"He's not slipping away—he's going to be fine!" Stung by the accusation, Blair jumped up from his chair and started pacing the small room. Jim gave a quiet moan, as if in response to Blair's agitation, but Blair ignored it.

Simon stood, too, with his back against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. "You don't know what's been going on, do you? He hasn't told you any of it." It sounded like another accusation and Blair responded defensively.

"He doesn't talk to me about cases anymore. He barely talks to me at all."  
"Because he knows you don't want to hear about it!" Simon shouted. 

Blair stopped, startled, and stared at him. "What?"

"When you left the PD, we all knew you weren't coming back. Hell, we figured you'd dump Jim, too. The betting pool gave you six months. Jim said he had to give you some space, to let you find your own way. So, he started coming to talk to me instead of you."

"He knows I would never leave him when he needed me." Blair crossed his own arms, defensive and angry. "You've been his friend longer than I have, why shouldn't he talk to you about shit?"

"Because he's not in love with me," Simon said more gently. "Because I'm not the beginning and end of his world."

Blair snorted, and then laughed.

"Jesus, Simon, drop it in my lap, why don'tcha?" He ran his hands through his hair, freeing it, and straightened to look up and meet Simon's eyes. "You're nuts, man. Jim's the straightest guy in the world, and I'm the second."

"Tell that to the guys that have been harassing him." Simon held Blair's gaze. His voice was rough and pissed off. "Tell that to Brown and Rafe; they've been defending both of you. Tell it to Jim the next time he hides out in my office because he's so lonely he can't bear to go home."

"You're nuts," Blair said. But his mind was racing. Jim being harassed at the station? Staying in Simon's office instead of coming home? Why? 

"I never thought I would say this about you, Sandburg. After everything you've done and everything you've sacrificed, I can hardly believe it."

Blair glared at Simon, daring him to say whatever it was.

"You're being selfish." Simon raised a hand in a warding gesture when Blair would have erupted, and kept talking. "For the past year, you've been so caught up in your sacrifice and your miserable martyrdom that you haven't even noticed what's been going on with Ellison. He's your best friend and you've been taking him for granted."

"I gave him my life, man, what else does he want?!" Blair yelled now, ignoring the pained look on Simon's face. They both heard the footsteps running down the hall. "I haven't got anything left to give him!"

"Yes, you do." Simon took a step forward, and then another. He put a hand on Blair's shoulder. "And he has something to give you. If you would just let him."

The door opened; a nurse and a security guard stared in at them.

"I was just leaving." Simon picked up the empty coffee cup and crushed it, tossing it in the wastebasket on his way out the door. "Good night, Blair."

It sounded very final, but Blair didn't answer. He was too angry. Simon left, the security guard left, and the nurse hovered until he shooed her off as well. Then Blair sat back in the chair and stared at Jim for a while.

 

* * *

 

The clock was ticking past one a.m. when Blair picked up the phone. He dialed a number he was surprised he remembered; it had been more than a year since he called it.

He let the phone ring, knowing he was waking someone up.

"Huh—Hello?" Joel's voice was gritty with sleep and worried.

"Hey. Taggert. It's Sandburg." Blair cradled the phone between chin and shoulder, hands laced, elbows on knees. Watching Jim.

"Blair! Long time, no see. Is Ellison okay? I would have come by the hospital, but Simon said you wanted to be left alone tonight."

"Jim's fine. Yeah, he needs to rest. He'll be good in the morning."

"Haven't seen you in a month of Sundays." That was a cautious curiosity in Taggert's words. "Not that I mind the call, but are you wearing a watch?"

"I know. I'm sorry to wake you. There are some things I wanted to know, and I didn't know who else to ask."

"Things you can't ask Jim?" Joel was obviously reluctant now.

"Simon said people have been harassing Jim. Is it true?" Blair blurted, suddenly aware that he was more upset than he'd admitted to himself.

"Simon wouldn't lie to you, Sandburg." It wasn't exactly an answer.

"Joel, man, we went through some stuff together, and I never asked you for anything before—just tell me what's been going on with Jim!"

Joel's sigh was audible through the phone line. Blair gripped the receiver and clenched his free hand into a fist on his knee.

"Blair..."

"Joel..."  
"Okay, okay. Yeah, people have been giving him a hard time. It all started after you left, like once you were gone, Ellison was fair game. He gets notes and people leave things on his desk. Stuff like that."

"What do the notes say? What kinds of things?"

Why hadn't Jim told him about this?

"Blair! I don't know, exactly. And I wouldn't tell you if I did. Look, I never cared what you and Jim did in private. You can make like monkeys and hang from the chandelier! But when you started teaching at public school, some people got mad. They don't care what kind of people you and Jim are, but they don't think you should be around kids."

"Monkeys? Chandelier?" Blair repeated, rather stupidly.

"Look, it's way too late for this. Or too early. You need to talk to Jim, not me. I'm going back to sleep. Good night, Sandburg."

"Um, yeah. G'night, Joel." Blair heard the phone click. Two for two. He pulled it away from his ear to stare at it stupidly.

This had been going on for months—maybe years—and he had missed it. Some observer he was.

He hung up the phone and hunched forward, staring at Jim, willing him to wake up so Blair could yell at him. Wanting him to wake up and distract Blair from his thoughts.

It had always been there. That question others asked when they saw he and Jim together. It even made sense, sort of. They shared an apartment, paid the bills together. Cooked and cleaned. Blair decided what Jim ate, looked after him, bought his clothes. And lately Blair had been so busy he hadn't dated at all. Jim had given it up years ago. After one too many ex-girlfriend tried to kill you or frame you, it didn't seem worth it anymore, Blair understood that.

He closed his eyes, holding a single image of Jim in his head. So big, so still, the oxygen mask on his face, the IV needle in his hand. Faint bruising around his eyes, like he was too tired. Exhausted.

So quiet. So still. Jim had always been a quiet man when left to his own devices.

As Blair thought about it, other things became clearer. Frank Dillard's antipathy. The knowing smiles of the other teachers on the rare occasions Blair took the time to flirt with one of them. The occasional smirk of a student or glare from a parent.

Could it be because they all thought he was gay? Not because he was white?  
Gay men were generally run out of public schools, but maybe the CISD was desperate enough to overlook that. Particularly since his supposed sexual partner was a police detective, a decorated military hero. Policeman of the Year—twice.

The last woman Blair had dated was Megan. It had been doomed from the start. He'd thought that since she knew about Jim and the Sentinel stuff, she would be understanding about the demands Jim made on Blair's time. Instead, she'd been like a groupie, endlessly fascinated with Sentinel details and seeming less interested in Blair himself. When she had returned to Australia to take care of her mother, almost a year ago, Blair had been relieved. The sex had been okay, but she'd really started to get on his nerves. He never wanted to be called 'Sandy' again.

He needed to call the school and tell them he wouldn't be there tomorrow. He wasn't going to leave Jim until he woke up and they talked about this. Fortunately, the system was set up so he could call the computer and request a substitute, which he did. Then he checked his messages and found none.

Blair pulled the chair closer to the bed. He leaned over, head on his arms, and closed his eyes. His nose brushed Jim's ribs.

It was late. It had been long day. He fell asleep. Not wondering what he was going to do tomorrow. Just wondering how he was going to do it.

 

* * *

 

"Oh, he's asleep."

"Should we wake him? He's probably been up all night."

The hushed female voices were vaguely familiar. Jim breathed in the scents that told him where he was and who was with him. His right hand was very warm, cocooned in slightly prickly softness Blair's hair?

He was in the hospital. Not in pain, though the IV needle stung a bit. In the hospital, and Blair was sleeping close by. So everything was fine.

Jim kept his eyes closed and waited to see what happened next. He was still tired, so it wasn't hard to let himself drift back into a doze.

 

* * *

 

Blair shifted his head slightly. He felt the scratchy warmth of a blanket beneath his cheek and a warmer weight on his head, holding it in place.

"His back is gonna kill him when he wakes up." A hand shook his shoulder and he caught a whiff of perfume; flowery and sweet. "Blair. Blair, honey, wake up. Sit up before you strain something."

He knew that voice. It wasn't his mother. It was—Saundra? Saundra Vailes? The science teacher?

"Huh?" Blair opened his eyes and pushed up from the bed. The chair creaked and Jim's hand slid from his hair. Blair caught it with both of his before it hit the bed. "Saundra? Jim!" He stood, legs complaining, stiff from being in the chair for hours.

As he leaned over his friend, the blue eyes opened and Jim reached up to touch his face.

"Hey, Chief."

"Welcome back." In Jim's eyes, Blair could see everything he needed to know. He realized that it had been there for a long time now, but he hadn't been looking. "I love you." Blair leaned over the bed and kissed Jim gently.

Jim stiffened, his eyes flickering to glance behind Blair and then back to stare at Blair's face, but Blair put one hand on each side of Jim's head and kissed him again.

Jim parted his lips and kissed him back.

"Blair?" 

He pulled away and Jim clung to his hand, voice plaintive.

"We've got company." Blair squeezed his hand and shifted to sit on the bed, using a foot to push the closest chair toward Saundra. He was a little surprised to see that the second woman was Mrs. Tucker, the assistant district superintendent. He nodded at her, a frisson of worry skittering through him, but he held his ground. Saundra had been a wellspring of information and a reliable source of help when he started at Zundy. He didn't think he had anything to fear from her now. She was too up-front to be part of some scheme to get rid of him. "Saundra, Mrs. Tucker."

"Mr. Sandburg." The ADS handed over a potted plant. "We're sorry to come by so early."

Blair looked at his watch. His eyes were caught—by Jim's hand around his. Jim's fingers between his. So many good things about that.

It was just past 7 a.m.

"The nurses said they were going to have to wake you anyhow." Mrs. Tucker smiled. A bit tentatively, Blair thought.

"That's good, then. Better you guys than nurses any day," Jim spoke up. His thumb stroked the back of Blair's hand. Blair smiled.  
"There's a card, too." Saundra handed it over. Jim took it in his free hand and Blair helped him open it.

It was just a silly get-well card, but all the staff from Blair's school had signed it. Even Mr. Dillard.

Jim's grin threatened to split his face. "Aw, that's nice, Chief." He looked up and, now that he was looking, Blair could see the beauty of his features. The softness of his lips and the strength of his jaw.

The love in his eyes.

"Yeah, it is." Blair did his best to show the same emotion when he met Jim's gaze, then he turned his attention again to the visitors. "Thank you. But you didn't have to come all the way down here, Mrs. Tucker." He appreciated the visit, but kind of wondered if there was something more going on here. 

"I know that. Superintendent Spencer and I had a bit of a talk last night, after I saw the news report on Detective Ellison's accident.. We decided that it was time to make a little policy statement."

As liberal as any school system outside California, Blair was pretty sure the CISD wasn't going to be taking on the religious right any time soon. There wouldn't be a discussion on the merits of gay teachers at the next school board meeting. His skepticism must have shown on his face, because she gave him a small tight smile in response.

"A very small statement," she said, offering the plant.

"We'll take what we can get." Blair accepted the gift. The variegated ivy would thrive in their bathroom, he was sure. It could use a little color.

So the school—the entire ISD, apparently—had thought he and Jim were a couple all along. Blair hadn't ever considered that, caught up in work and school and getting his life back in order. Now that he was aware of it, he was sort of glad. It meant he wouldn't have to hide anything. Now that it was true.

"Thank you," Jim said, and his sincerity was plain.

"I have to get back," Saundra said.

"Who's covering my classes?" Blair asked.

"I am," Mrs. Tucker surprised him by saying.

"That's going to be more of a big statement than a little one." Blair set the ivy down and extended a hand. She shook it without hesitation.

"We need good teachers. Dedicated teachers." Her grip was sure.  
"You've got one of the best." Jim slid his arm around Blair's waist, his hand cupped warmly over a hip.

"We know. You're expected to take tomorrow off as well, Mr. Sandburg."

"But I've got a test to give—"

"I'll take care of it." Mrs. Tucker released his hand. Blair rested it on the bed beside Jim's leg.

Jim closed his eyes and relaxed onto his pillows. The women made quiet goodbyes and left them alone.

Blair got up from the bed.

"Blair?" Jim sounded worried. "Where are you going?"

"Hang on, I'll be right back, Jim." With a glance, Blair assured himself that Jim was still lying down and not straining himself. He took the ivy to the bathroom and watered it, leaving it sitting in the sink to drain, then came back out. Picking up a chair, he wedged it under the door handle as best he could.

"Chef?" Jim looked at him, amused, but still worried. "What are you doing?"

"I don't want to be disturbed." Blair sat in the chair by the bed and unlaced his boots. He pulled off his flannel overshirt and hung it on the back of the chair, then swung up onto the bed and straddled Jim's thighs.

Jim stared at him in startled disbelief.

"You should have said something." Blair tapped a finger in the middle of Jim's sternum. "I know I wasn't looking the way I should have been, but you should have said something."

Jim shrugged. "I didn't know what to say." His hands were by his sides, inches from Blair's knees.

"How 'bout 'Hey, Sandburg, I love ya, man'?"

Jim snorted. "Blair, I fell in love with you. I wanted your heart, not your Bud Lite."

"That's good, 'cause I won't even share my beer with my mom." Blair leaned forward, putting an elbow on either side of Jim's chest, just under his armpits.

"Be serious, Chief." Jim's hands twitched and Blair grinned. It was a naughty grin.

"I am. I seriously love you and I'm seriously sorry I didn't say so before." Blair ruffled Jim's short hair with one hand, the other patting his chest.  
"That sounds pretty serious." Jim reached, hesitated, then touched Blair's waist with his fingertips before sliding his arms around the smaller man, hands settling at the small of Blair's back.

"Seriously," Blair agreed.

"This serious?" Jim raised his head, mouth open. Blair met him halfway and they kissed deeply, tasting each other for the first time.

Aware of the possibility of interruption, they kept it slow. Blair tried to keep calm. He'd never thought of this and was amazed at how quickly he got turned on. After only a few kisses, he was panting and hard and wanting a lot more. He broke away and sat up, his butt on Jim's thighs, very aware of Jim's erection so near to his own.

Jim's hands slid around to squeeze Blair's thighs. His thumbs brushed the bulge in Blair's loose khaki trousers.

"Blair—" He tried to say something, gulped, and tried again. "Blair, I need you to know—"

"Whatever it is, it's okay." Blair ran two fingers over Jim's lips, surprised to see that his hands were shaking. "We don't have to talk about it now."

"Blair..."

"Jim." 

"Okay." Jim smiled. Then he yawned until his jaw cracked. "Wow."

Blair chuckled and slid off the bed, off of Jim. "Here's the plan; you stay here and rest while I run some errands. Dr. Petty makes rounds at ten, I'll be back to pick you up right after that."

"You sure he's going to let me go?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "It was an allergic reaction, as far as he knows. You're clearly fine now. Insist if he balks."

"It's not like they want me here." Jim laughed.

"Exactly." Blair put on his shirt and shoes, removed the chair from the door. He was surprised no one had tried to come in.

"Where you going to go?" Jim sat up in the bed, Blair coming over to stack pillows behind him.

"I told you. Errands."

Jim eyed him speculatively. "I'm not sure I trust you."  
"Sure you do." Blair smoothed the blanket to Jim's waist and straightened the collar of the hospital gown. "You love me."

"Well, yeah." Jim's smile was like sunshine. "I do."

"I'll try to be back by ten-thirty. That should give them time to get the paperwork done." Blair hesitated by the bed. Jim pulled him down by the shoulders and kissed him again. They both needed a shave and the friction was inviting.

"Don't be late," he said.

Blair swallowed and tucked his hands in his pockets, feeling flushed. As he walked down the hall, he was sure that everyone that saw him knew exactly what he'd been doing.

And he didn't care, not even a little bit.

 

* * *

 

The errands took a little longer than he expected. First home to shower and change. Then a bit of shopping. Then home again, to make preparations. Then he raced back to the hospital to find Jim pacing the room, waiting for clothes. The ones he'd been wearing had been thrown into the hospital incinerator, impregnated with cocaine powder as they were.

"In there." Blair handed him the gym bag and pointed to the bathroom. 

Jim quirked an eyebrow. "Changing your mind? Or do you just want to take things slow? I know we haven't ta—"

Blair covered Jim's mouth with one hand, cutting him off. "Go get dressed, Jim. I'm taking you home, and then I'm taking you to bed."

The grin on Jim's face spread slowly beneath Blair's palm. Blair removed his hand.

"Cool," Jim said. Blair swatted him on his bare rump, unprotected by the hospital gown.

Jim padded to the bathroom with a swagger, and Blair smiled behind him.

 

* * *

 

They drove straight home. Jim's truck was already there, returned by a uniform on Simon's orders—washed and waxed. Blair parked beside it and they went up together in the elevator.

When Blair opened the door and gestured, Jim went in cautiously. Blair closed the door behind them and hung up their coats.

Jim was peering around suspiciously.

"What?" Blair stepped up beside him.

"I'm waiting for someone to jump up and yell 'Surprise!'"

"No. Just us." Blair leaned into Jim's side.

"No candles? No romantic table for two?" Jim pretended to be hurt while he studied the dining room table. It still held a stack of mail, plus Blair's laptop and briefcase.

"Nope." Blair shook his head. Jim put an arm over his shoulders and they stepped closer to each other.

"No Michael Bolton?" Jim pointed at the stereo.

"Nah. We don't need any of that." Blair put an arm around Jim's waist and pushed a little. "I was up most of the might. How do you feel about a nap?"

"Well, I've been in a bed for the last twenty-four hours..." Jim mock-grumbled as he allowed himself to be steered up the stairs.

As soon as the bed came into view, he stopped. Blair came up behind him and put his hands on Jim's waist, leaning up to whisper in his ear, "Is it okay?"

Jim went the rest of the way up. He stopped again as soon as he stepped off the stairs, Blair beside him.

They looked at the bedroom.

The faded blue bedspread had been replaced by a heavy comforter in vibrant shades of green and blue and brown, a jungle scene spilled across the bed. There were twice as many pillows, with cases in the same pattern, and the spread was folded back to show a new set of crisp cotton sheets in a soothing pale green.

There was a large rug at the foot of the bed that matched the spread and pillowcases, and new curtains fluttered at the windows.

A huge black jungle cat stalked them from a framed poster on the wall opposite the bed.

"Did I overdo it?" Blair asked at last, when Jim didn't say anything.

"No." Jim shook his head slowly. "No, I like it. It looks different. Alive."  
"Like we are." Blair slipped his hand into Jim's. "But we didn't need new stuff to prove that, of course."

"No?" Jim looked down at him, smiling, a little bit goofy.

"No. But now we have everything we need."

"Like what?" Jim reached for Blair when Blair turned toward him.

"A comfortable bed. Warm blankets. Clean sheets." Blair nudged Jim toward the bed with hands and hips. Jim walked backwards, smiling down at him. "Other stuff."

"What other stuff?" The bed hit Jim at the back of his knees and he stopped. Blair put both hands on his chest and pushed.

"Other stuff," he repeated. "You'll see."

Falling back on the bed, Jim pulled Blair down with him. The new spread felt like velvet, smelled like the woods. He must have been imagining it.

"Promise?" He pulled Blair down between his legs.

"Oh, yeah." Blair settled on his chest and they started kissing again.

"I can't wait," Jim groaned. Then he flipped them over, looming above Blair on his hands and knees.

"Don't have to," Blair gasped. He began unbuttoning Jim's shirt, as fast as he could, pushing it eagerly off the broad shoulders. "Aw, man, Jim." Lifting up, Blair fastened his mouth to one pale nipple and sucked hard. Jim moaned and held his head there. Feeling bolder, Blair ran a hand down to Jim's groin and outlined his erection through stressed denim. Jim pushed into his hand.

"I feel like I've waited for this forever," Jim muttered. "And that it's all happening too fast."

Pulling his head away, Blair put his free hand on Jim's shoulder and met his eyes.

"If it happens fast, we'll do it again," he promised. "And again and again, until we get it right."

"Fast or slow, this will always be right, Chief." Jim slowly lowered himself until he was lying on top of Blair. "We can't do anything wrong together."

They gave up words for a while. Blair arched into Jim, startled by how much he enjoyed the weight of his lover on his body. They kissed and petted, each undressing the other as much as they could without giving up the closeness. Finally, the need to be naked together outweighed the desire to stay close and they broke apart to finish stripping. 

Jim was done before Blair. He rolled from the bed and stood, watching Blair with hands on hips, his erection standing proudly before him. In boxers and socks, flat on his back on the bed, Blair blushed and hooked his thumbs under the elastic waistband.

"Hope I can compete," he said, sort of self-mocking. Jim watched avidly, drinking in every inch of flesh as it was revealed. When the boxers hit the floor, he went to his knees beside the bed. His hands grabbed Blair's hips and pulled him down where his mouth could reach everything else.

Blair yelped and grabbed at Jim's head when the older man sucked on the head of his cock.

"Easy, easy!" he muttered, legs spreading wider. "A little sensitive there, man..."

"I thought I was the sensitive half of this partnership, Chief." Jim chuckled and the sound around Blair's cock made him groan again. With more care now, Jim sucked on the head of it and fondled the heavy testicles. Blair's pubic hair was curly and smelled cleanly of musk. Jim rose up higher on his knees and pressed his own aching cock against the side of the bed. The softness of the new spread was intoxicating. He humped it a little while he worked on Blair.

He'd never done this before. He was pretty sure Blair hadn't, either. That said, he could understand why some women actually liked doing it. Blair was loudly enthusiastic, groaning and sighing and murmuring his name while petting Jim's head and shoulders. He tasted good on Jim's tongue, felt good, the hot, hard thickness of him.

Jim used one hand on Blair's hip to keep him from thrusting too deep, and the other at the base of Blair's cock to add stimulation. He didn't have to think much; Blair set up the rhythm and just kept going. Jim could look up at him, see the wide-eyed stare Blair was giving him, and suck harder.

With his own body frantically demanding, Jim slipped a finger into his mouth beside Blair's cock and got it wet while Blair thrust shallowly. He slipped it between Blair's legs and gingerly probed for the hole. Finding it, he wiggled the finger in just a couple of inches. Blair made a gasping noise that might have been words; his cock swelled in Jim's mouth, and suddenly Jim was swallowing rather desperately, trying to keep up with the flow of semen that flooded his throat.

He did pretty good, getting most of it. Resting his head on the bed between Blair's legs, he caught his breath and, finally, looked up.

Blair was staring at the ceiling. It seemed he might be in shock.

Jim allowed himself a smug smile.

"Blair?" Jim reached for the nightstand, opened the drawer. He was surprised to find a new box of condoms and a tube of lubricant. "Chief?"

Blair muttered something and twitched a little. Jim's smile widened. He got the things from the nightstand and used his elbows to push Blair's knees farther apart. Blair sighed and lifted his hips, reaching for a pillow with his hand. 

Jim helped him tuck it under his butt.

"We haven't talked—" Jim tried to say, but Blair snapped his head up and fixed him with a glare.

"And we ain't gonna now."

"Okay," Jim said, startled but amused. And incredibly turned on. He'd never wanted anyone this badly. It didn't matter if Blair had done this before or not, he was going to treat him like a virgin either way, because it was Blair, and Jim couldn't hurt him. So they really didn't need to talk right now.

He took a long time preparing him. Not really knowing much but the basics, he squirted a third of the tube directly into Blair's ass, then used his fingers to spread it around. He didn't use too much pressure, he was afraid of tearing something. If it didn't work, they'd just do something else, but he wanted to try this. To at least try.

Blair panted and moaned and shivered while he was doing it. Jim rolled on the condom and added yet more lube. Blair looked down at him and raised his own legs, hooking his hands behind his knees, and opened himself up for Jim as wide as he could. 

"Oh, God, Blair." Jim could only stare for a moment. How could that little hole, all shiny now and pink, be so attractive? How could he want to do this so bad? "Blair," he repeated.

"Do it, Jim. Do it. I want you to."

Jim didn't need much more urging. He used one hand to steady himself and the other to pet Blair's belly, and pressed forward. It was hard, he had to strain and he heard Blair's moan become a whimper as it was cut off, but he still pushed. And pushed and pushed until he was in, the ring of muscle popping tight around the head of his cock and making him curse.

"Fuck, that's tight. God damn, Blair."

"Yeah...yeah..." Blair was panting. "Jim, you gotta—you gotta..."

"Do something. I know." Jim pushed forward a bit more, then pulled back, not far enough to come out. Blair twisted his upped body on the bed, still holding his knees open for Jim. 

"I love you," Jim gasped. The heat and pressure was almost too much.  
"You, too..." Blair shuddered. Jim glanced down to see what he was doing and saw that his lover was hard again. He was completely with Jim in this. 

"God."

"Jim."

"Yeah, baby."

With a few more, very short thrusts, Jim got things going. There was plenty of lubricant, but Blair was very, very tight. He stuck to short, shallow thrusts until things began to loosen up, and then he got a knee up on the bed and leaned up over Blair and thrust harder.

Blair screamed. Jim froze.

"Bad?" he gasped, unable to form more words.

"Good, good!" Blair lifted his hips off the pillow and used his body to beg for more. Jim gave it to him, thrusting hard. He could almost feel the small lump that had to be the magic gland. Blair reacted to it as if it were a firecracker up his butt.

"More, more—harder!" His head was back, shoulders off the bed, hair everywhere. Jim wanted to just take a minute and stop to look at him. To memorize him like this.

Open and giving. A part of Jim.

But his own desire was short-circuiting his higher thought processes and with the next three thrusts, he lost control completely. He lifted Blair's ass with both hands, got both knees on the bed, sat back on his heels and fucked him silly.

He wanted it to last longer. But he didn't have that kind of control over his body, and Blair was already there—Jim felt the splatter of thick heat splash him as the tunnel around his cock clamped down and Blair grabbed at him with both hands. Off-balance, Jim went to his elbows and Blair wrapped his sturdy body around Jim's and clung to him while he shook with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Jim only had to push in once more, as far as he could go, right up inside Blair, and the world whited out, upside down.

 

* * *

 

When things were rightside up again, Jim lifted his head. He was on his side, his head pillowed on a slow-moving chest. Soft hair tickled his nose. A strong hand was petting his head. Another rested on his thigh, his leg pulled up over Blair's groin and lower stomach. He had an arm around Blair's waist and one tucked between them. He would be happy if he never moved again.

"That was great," Blair whispered.  
"Yeah." Jim turned his head just far enough to kiss Blair's chest. "Think it will get better?"

"We'll die."

"Perfect." Jim chuckled. He closed his eyes.

It would be hard to avoid Blair now. The anthropologist had come into his life and taken it over; almost every significant part. Now he was the most significant part.

Jim could live with that.

 

* * *

 

Blair heard Jim chuckle. He felt it on his sweat-dampened skin. It was a happy sound, and it felt nice. He petted Jim's head and let his eyes travel lazily around the bedroom.

The sunlight was faint, the day outside muggy and drear. But he could see everything that was important.

His own clothes on shelves in the closet, which stood open. His three pairs of boots on the floor beside the railing.

His glasses on the nightstand.

His shabby plaid robe hung on a hook inside the closet door, right next to Jim's.

Jim's head on his chest. His hand in Jim's hair.

He'd never realized that this was what love looked like. It had been there, all along. He just hadn't seen it.

Funny what you could see once you started looking.


End file.
